


Toothache

by FcrestNymph



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P England (Hetalia), 2P Hetalia, 2Ptalia, Gore, Pliers, lots of gore, tooth extraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 08:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11985702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FcrestNymph/pseuds/FcrestNymph
Summary: The one word prompt for this story is Toothache, and it is quite gorey





	Toothache

Oliver’s hips swayed as his hands gently pushed large utensils aside. His delicate fingers searched through the drawer, pausing only as he found an assortment of wooden skewers. He often made fruit kebabs with them, and he had been toying with the idea of trying to use ice cream instead. Today, though, the skewers would serve a different purpose. He stepped away from the drawer for a moment, slipping the handful of skewers into the pocket on the front of his apron. It was frilly around the edges, and although red wasn’t his best colour, he quite liked the polkadotted apron. He danced around the kitchen, moving from drawer to drawer, cupboard to cupboard as he filled his apron pocket with tools. A lovely collection of knives of all sorts, a cheese grater, a corkscrew, and a vegetable peeler was among the supplies.

He cast one last look around the kitchen, then nodded in satisfaction once he was sure he had everything he would need. Stopping only to grab a strawberry from the fridge, he walked down the hallway, stopping at the door at the very end. He popped the berry into his mouth, humming as the sweet juices flooded his mouth. Fresh fruit was always so much better than fruit bought at a store. He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a necklace. Using the key dangling from it, he unlocked the door, then slipped the necklace back under his shirt.

He turned the knob and stepped inside, making sure to close and lock the door behind him. He turned around and began his trek down the stairs, his shoes clicking against each cement step on the long way down. It was pitch black, but he was familiar enough with his basement to know his way around. He stepped off the last stair, the clinking of tools within his apron silencing at the same time his steps did.

“Hello~?” He called, his voice soft, dreamy. He walked over to the middle of the room and reached up, standing on his tip toes to turn on the pull-cord light switch. As he pulled it down, light flooded the basement, and he dropped down to his normal height. “Hello, Mr. Jones. How are you feeling?” He asked, meeting the terrified gaze of the man before him.  
Tied to a chair was a young man. He didn’t look a day over twenty, but his eyes shone with experience that only a lifetime would bring. Now, though? Those baby blues were flooding with complete and utter terror. Blond hair draped in front of a face that would be beautiful, if it weren’t for those tear stained cheeks.  
“Hmm? Not one for talking? That’s alright, dear. I mean, it would be,” he stepped closer, a hand moving to brush away the tears from the Nation’s cheeks. “but, you see, I did ask you a question. And as surprising as you may find it, a question does require an answer. So, I’ll repeat myself.” Oliver raised an eyebrow a centimeter, pausing to allow the boy to process his words. “How are you feeling?”

There was a moment of silence, save for the quiet teeth chattering of a voiceless stammer. Oliver jerked forward slightly, a sudden movement that yanked the words from the boy’s lips.

“Bad! B-b-bad! I-I don’t know–I d-don’t know why I-I’m–Who–Who are y-you?”

Oliver clicked his tongue in disapproval. “My my, you stammer worse than your brother. What was his name? Matt…Matthew, wasn’t it?” He saw the boy’s terrified gaze flash as the name was spoken, he saw the muscles tense and jerk under the ropes. He chuckled, raising a hand and gently brushing the hair from the young man’s wet face. “Shh, shh, it’s alright, I didn’t touch your brother, he is perfectly safe.” His hand moved, slipping in the pocket of his apron. It was at that moment that the younger Nation seemed to notice the absolute absurdity of Oliver’s appearance. A frilly red and white baking apron, pink hair, butter yellow sleeves poking out from the sides of the apron, and a pocketful of–Oliver saw the man’s eyes narrow.

“Ah, nothing to worry about, just some tools of the trade.” He assured the Nation, moving his fingers and making his pocket jingle. “Now, I’m sure you have questions, and I definitely have answers. But….” He glanced around the near empty basement, sighing in a manner that was perhaps more dramatic than necessary. “I do get bored. So why don’t we play a game?”

The man’s eyes followed his movements closely, gaze snapping from one hand to the other as Oliver moved them.

“We take turns. When it’s your turn, you can ask a question. When it’s mine, I have a bit of fun. Deal?” He held a hand out in front of him, but when it wasn’t shaken, he giggled. 

“Oh, whoops! Forgot that you were tied up. Anyways! Question one, go for it.”

The man seemed hesitant, only speaking after Oliver nodded encouragingly. “Where…Where am I?” His voice broke for a moment, but he cleared his throat and continued speaking. “Who are you?”

Oliver held up a hand, shaking his head. “No no, Alfred, only one question per turn,. You are at my home, in my basement. Now, my turn!” He smiled and dug around in his pocket. After a moment, he pulled out his chosen item. The young man in front of him tensed, eyes widening. He didn’t even have enough time to speak before a knife was deeply embedded in his thigh. Oliver’s hands went to his ears.

The light bulb shook as the scream tore through the basement, lasting for a good ten seconds before breaking into gasping sobs. Oliver waited for a moment before taking his hands off of his ears. “Good job! You did so good. Now, what is your next question?”

Alfred shook in his chair, trembling terribly against his ropes. Blood seeped from his thigh, pooling around the inch of so of seat that was available before dripping onto the ground. He gasped between breaths, eyes squeezed almost as tightly as his jaw.

“Any questions? No? Alright, my turn.”

Alfred snapped upwards, back straightening as he all but screamed out “NO!”

Oliver paused. “Alright. A question, then?”

“Okay, o-okay, p-please just–” He took in a deep, shaky breath. “U-uh, okay I–W-why are–No no, I–Y-yeah, why are y-you doing this?”

“It’s simple, really. I was bored, and I’ve noticed that your lovely little Arthur has been paying quite a bit of attention to you. So the solution is…This!” While watching his silly little   
First Player, he had seen that Arthur had been spending more time than usual with this flaxen haired beauty, and Oliver had found himself hating that attractive, flashing smile.

“My turn! I got the initial cut finished, so now onto the fun part~” He fished in his apron pocket for a moment, and then pulled out one of his favourite tools. Pliers. “Open up, honey~ Ah, wait, no, you won’t stay open for me..Here, let me just….” Oliver frowned slightly as he searched for something useful. Ah! He pulled out a butter knife. A few tries with the pliers, and the butter knife snapped in half. He grabbed the blade portion, and reached over to Alfred’s face.

Alfred, at the moment, was shaking fiercely, and he shook his head in refusal the closer Oliver’s hand came to his mouth. “NO! NO PLEASE–PLEASE DON’T–P-P-PLEASE!”

Oliver gave him an annoyed look, but didn’t obey. He put his hands in Alfred’s mouth as he screamed, and before the younger Nation could clamp down on his fingers, Oliver shoved the blade of the butter knife in his mouth. He pulled his fingers out just in time for Alfred to try and bite down.

The top of the blade sliced into his tongue, and the base of the blade dug deep into the roof of his mouth. Oliver reveled in the blood choked screams that echoed against the walls. “Perfect! Now hold still.” It wasn’t as if Jones had any choice in the matter. Oliver adjusted his grip on the pliers, and then moved to clamp down on one of Alfred’s front, upper teeth. He heard the crunch as the metal of the pliers ground against the tooth. Without any warning. Oliver pulled. The tooth came out with a rip and a pop, and another scream tore from Alfred’s blood filled throat. Oliver stuck out his tongue and dropped the tooth onto it. He slurped it into his mouth, humming happily as he sucked on the tooth. 

It tasted metallic and faintly minty, and the flesh still attached to the tooth got caught between Oliver’s own teeth. He giggled.

“Got a question?”

“Ghhgr–”

“Ah, none? Alright, my turn.” He clamped down on another tooth. With a rip and a pop, it was out. He spat out the old tooth, and put the new one in his mouth. Alfred, who had finally managed to open his eyes and focus on him, looked to be nauseated.

“Question?”

“Kchhll–”

“My turn~!” Another tooth came out. It continued for ten more minutes. Oliver would ask to hear a question, he would get a choked gurgle in response, and then he would pull out a tooth and suck on it. As ten minutes turned into eleven, Oliver spat out the very last tooth into his hand. A molar. He turned it over in his hand, examining it. “Well well well, look at that!” He held it up to show Alfred. “You have a cavity! If I looked around at the other teeth, I’m sure you would have more. Well, you don’t have to deal with them anymore.”

Alfred’s head lolled forward, blood oozed from his mangled mouth without being held back. The butter knife blade had been embedded far deeper than it had originally been, due to the constant attempts at closing his mouth during the onslaught of pain.

Oliver sighed, pulling out a smooth bladed knife from his pocket. He walked behind Alfred, setting the blade against his neck, just below his ear. “You should be thanking me. You don’t have to deal with any more toothaches. Goodbye, Alfred Jones.” He pulled the knife across America’s neck, grinning as blood began to gush.


End file.
